


Where We Start From

by ImpishTubist



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five billion years in the future, two characters toast the end of the world. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Start From

**Author's Note:**

> "What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."  
> -T. S. Eliot
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them.

  
Millions of years before the end of the world, the last humans built a space station. This was not unusual, as humans had been constructing stations since they first took to the skies. The station itself was neither particularly large nor very small, and hung in the empty vacuum of space at such a distance that the entirety of the Earth could be seen from its windows. It saw the rise and fall of countless civilizations, serviced millions of space-faring vessels, even aided humanity as it fled its home planet for a new life elsewhere in the galaxy. The last humans left, and the station fell into disrepair. This also was not unusual; humans had been building and then eventually abandoning their creations since time immemorial.    


  
                But this particular station, for whatever reason, survived. Granted, now it was little more than a large floating platform, as all the materials that were deemed of worth had been salvaged long ago, but it was still the only human-made object left in humanity’s own star system.    


  
                Data found this most interesting, as he sat on the platform and gazed upon the dying planet. Its sun was expanding today; Mercury had been the first to go, swallowed up in the ball of fire as though it had never existed. Venus would follow soon, and then Earth. And he would watch from this object, this last piece of evidence that proved humanity had once lived within the Sol system.   


  
A generator hummed at his side, a useful tool he had picked up not long ago in the Andromeda Galaxy. It produced an artificial gravity field that encompassed the platform and also provided shielding for an atmosphere. He had no need for that, of course, but the shielding would also protect him from the fury of the expanding sun. He had also brought along a bottle of brandy; it only seemed appropriate to indulge an old human custom while watching their world disappear.    


  
                There was a shimmer of light, and another figure joined him on the platform.    


  
                “I did not think you would come, Brother.”   


  
                “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Lore grinned at his own weak joke and sat down next to Data, legs dangling off the edge of the platform.   


  
                “Where did you come from?”   


  
                “From here.” Lore picked up Data’s glass, sniffed it, and placed it back on the platform. “I was just a couple of universes to the right. They’re throwing a massive celebration on this – well, whatever this is. It’s a space station in that universe, and quite a superb one at that.” He glanced around, realizing that they were sitting on nothing more than a piece of debris. “Could use some paint, don’t you think?”   


  
                “Is Earth dying there as well?”   


  
                “It’s dying everywhere, Brother,” Lore replied with a too-cheery grin. “Seemed only right to come to the one where it all began.”  
  


  
                “Did you ever make it to Earth?”   


  
                “Never had the time. Knew you’d be here, though. You always were the sentimental one.”   


  
                Hands folded in his lap, Data began to swing one leg idly in the manner he had seen countless humans do and the pair lapsed into a lengthy silence. There was little to say, now, even at the end of the world. It had all been said before.    


  
                “Do you remember _Enterprise_?” The question was abrupt, after approximately twenty-three minutes of silence.    


  
                “No,” Lore said lightly, and it was true. There wasn’t a species alive that could keep five billion years’ worth of memories in its brain, even a cybernetic one. Well, except perhaps for the Q, but no one had heard from them in about a billion years, give or take a century. The androids therefore kept their excess memories in storage on the Kratal homeworld, picking and choosing the centuries they wished to carry with them and leaving behind the mundane ones. Data had kept the early years where Lore had not, preferring to remember his beginning as though it had occurred yesterday. But those people had been dust for eons, long enough for entire species to rise and fall. And now the Earth was dying; the planet from which, ten billion years prior, the gears had been set in motion for humanity to rise and, subsequently, their creation.    


  
                It was the end of an era, and no human was around to see it. Their species had gone extinct millennia ago.    


  
                “You’re thinking again.”   


  
                “Is this surprising?”   


  
                Lore shook his head. He picked up Data’s glass again, sipped, winced, and handed it back to the android. “Five billion years, and the western spiral arm of the Milky Way _still_ has yet to produce a decent brandy.” He nodded at the dying star, edging ever closer to the planet. “How much longer?”   


  
                “I believe one hour, though possibly a little less. These events have proven to be rather unpredictable.”   


  
                “Why are you even here?” Lore asked suddenly. Data had long ago grown used to his brother’s abrupt segues.    


  
                “It is not possible for a true human to witness the end of his world. I feel as though it is my duty to witness it for them.”   


  
                “Will witnessing the event change the outcome?”   


  
                “No. But let me remind you, Brother, that you are here as well and of your own accord.”   


  
                ‘Yes,” Lore mused, “I suppose I am.”   


  
                Geordi would have liked to see this, Data mused as the barren world before them erupted into flames, splitting apart as the star that had brought about life turned on it with a vengeance. Well, perhaps _like_ was the wrong word. He would have found it immensely fascinating. And he would have tried everything in his engineering powers to halt the advance of the star or even move the orbit of the planet. He would have tried everything to save the world.    


  
                “Everything has its time,” Lore said softly in an unusually profound moment, as though he knew exactly what the other had been thinking. And perhaps he had; their brains were linked in ways that they still did not understand, even billions of years after their creation.    


  
                “You would know.” He had not meant for it to sound quite so biting. It was an ancient topic, and one that he had learned to avoid. The unspoken questions still haunted him; how many had Lore killed since their last meeting? How many species had he enslaved? They had stopped speaking of Lore’s crimes millennia ago, once travel between the galaxies had become possible and Data discovered Lore spending far too much time around developing civilizations and emerging species. Since then, Lore’s activities had become mere speculation. Data did not doubt the android was playing god to as many species as he could get his hands on, and did not want to know the details. He had discovered sometime in humanity’s 29th century that there was nothing he could do to stop his brother. The exact details escaped him, as he had stored the memories on Kratal and knew well enough that if the memories were not in his brain, then they were either too awful or too insignificant for him to carry around all the time. And where Lore was concerned, the former was nearly always the case. Though, to be fair, Lore had been equally affected by the event and did not carry those memories either.    


  
                “It should be some comfort to you, Brother,” Lore said as the Earth burned, “that humanity managed to survive in some universes. Their planet will die everywhere, but they will not.”   


  
                Data nodded curtly, wishing he could feel something at this bit of news, anything besides the dull grief now coursing through his body. Lore picked up the bottle of brandy and refilled the single glass.    


  
                “They had a good run,” he said, “and now it’s over. Not over for you, not for us, not for the billions of species left in this galaxy and not for the billions of species yet to come. Just for them.”   


  
                He raised the glass in a wordless toast, took a sip, and then handed it off. The last bits of the Earth broke apart and sank into the star, gently, like bits of s ship slipping beneath the waves.    


  
                _Here’s to the end,_ Data thought as he drank. _And to the beginning._   


  


  
  



End file.
